The Wounds We Feel
by shadow warren
Summary: While chasing a suspect, Morse and Thursday are trapped. Only bad thing is that Morse is injured.


**I do not own Endeavour.**

**Synopsis:** While chasing a suspect, Morse and Thursday are trapped. Only bad thing is that Morse is injured.

**Word Count:** 1206

**Characters:** Endeavour Morse, Fred Thursday, Jim Strange

"Shhh, you have to keep quiet," came a strong voice.

Detective Constable Endeavour Morse was trying. He really was, but it was difficult when one had a bullet buried in his chest. Morse's entire world had gone dark and hardly any sound reached his ears. All he could have sensation to was a heavy pressure on his wound and the feeling of blood running across his skin. It was painful, so much that the ginger Detective Constable had attempted to rol away and scream. After that attempt, his hands had been bound to something and a cloth covered his mouth to muffle screams he himself could not contain. Morse kept drifting in and out of consciousness. Eventually, the man was too weak to do much but feebly pull at the bindings and weakly moan his pain to the person next to him now that his mouth was free again.

"Mor… St… p mov…ng." came filtering in.

Something akin to a radio tuning in and out caught Morse's attention. He tried to say something back, but all that came out was a moan. In response, the pressure on his side increased. Screaming seemed like a good response. To his horror, something clamped down restricting air flow.

Warm air tickled Morse's ear. "Qu… Mor… shh…" along with a hand pushing sweat soaked hair off his forehead.

With that action, Morse suddenly realized that he had no memory of what transpired. He immediately attempted to sit up. Hands met shoulders, momentarily stopping the horrible pressure. Morse struggled as much as he was able, but nothing could beat the resistance he met on the way up.

Morse felt a light stinging on his cheek. A slap? Did he just get slapped? "…Rse… s… pen."

Morse moaned. Pain blossomed, taking all rational thought with it.

Sometime later (did he fall asleep?), Morse woke up to a sharp pain. The detective tried to take a deep breath, but it was like someone was stabbing him repeatedly with every inhale. Morse struggled to sit up, to tell the other person. His hand grabbed fabric (when did his hands get untied?) and he tugged.

"Can… Can… can't brea…" Morse said, barely a whisper.

Suddenly, he was being sat up. He felt hands jumble to take his shirt off the rest of the way. Cold air hit his skin, exacerbating everything tenfold. Morse felt something rest against his back as he continued his fight to just breathe. After what seemed like forever, Morse found himself settled on the floor again. Seconds later, he was turned on his side with something pressing again it again.

"Th… go… J… Brea…" was heard as Morse realized his breathing had gotten less labored. Still horrible, but now the knife had become a needle. Morse drifted back to sleep.

Morse's hearing came back in full as his chest felt like it was caving in. Footsteps came running back to him and he was again rolled to his injured side. Morse moaned, and Fred Thursday appeared in his line of sight. Thursday was staring intently. Morse broke the silence, "What happened?

It was so quiet and no more than a breath of air.

"What happened?" Thursday repeated back to his injured bagman.

Morse nodded, tiny and invisible if Thursday had not watched for it. Thursday sat of the floor, making sure to keep his hand on Morse's bloody wound, and began to spin the tale.

"We were chasing a suspect for the Engelman case. Three boys found murdered by a large knife. You suspected it was Mrs. Engelman until we went to arrest her, and we found her husband standing over her holding the murder weapon. He ran when he saw us and we followed. We caught up with him in this building and he caught you on the arm. Don't worry. It's a shallow cut. I was able to wrestle the knife from him, but the bastard had a pistol tucked into his waistband. It all happened in a blur. Next thing I know, you were lying with a hole in your chest."

Morse mulled it over. As soon as Thursday had mentioned his injuries they flared up. One, a deep fire and the other, a lit match. Without a warning, Morse started to bring up what little Thursday had forced into his partner. Morse felt very happy that he was already on his side. As he tried to calm his rabbiting heart and breathing, Thursday's hand disappeared.

Freaking out, Morse screamed, "Sir!"

Receiving no answer, Morse started to stand up. He made it into a sitting position when hands started guiding him back onto his side.

"Bloody idiot you are, Morse," Thursday grumbled.

"You… You were gone. Worried 'bout you," Morse slurred through a barely open mouth. "Didn't see you."

Fred softened as he heard the truth in his Detective Constable's voice, "You're shaking, and my hand isn't stopping the blood. I went to go get your shirt I threw away when I took it off!" he exclaimed softly, not wanting Morse to feel even worse about the whole thing.

Morse visibly relaxed, well, relaxed as anyone could whilst looking to shake out of their skin. "Oh, alright." Was muttered and barely heard.

Morse felt himself dropping off. Scared, he woke up as much as he could and called Thursday in a panic. After assured that Thursday was there and listening, Morse spoke. Although barely intelligible, Thursday listened as Morse spoke: quiet, broken, and slurred.

"Cannot hold on, sir. 'm sorry. Tired." With that last word, Morse's eyes slid shut and his entire body went limp.

Thursday immediately bundled the lanky Detective Constable into his lap, praying and begging the lad to keep breathing. Thursday actually wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he started hearing sirens get louder and louder. Thursday took a deep breath and screamed as loud as he could, "Here! We're down here!"

A faint call came past the walls, "Morse? Thursday? Are you down there?"

"Strange?" Thursday called tentatively.

"Yes, sir!" came the reply.

"Then hurry down here!" Thursday replied impatiently, "Morse is hurt!"

A while later, light streamed into the dark room and paramedics swarmed Morse and Thursday. Jim Strange followed and took in the scene. As soon as the paramedics moved to take injured man, Thursday came alive, seeing nothing but threats to his friend. Strange knew what he had to do.

"Thursday!" he barked.

Thursday started and looked at Strange, who saw the dilated pupils. Strange knew that despite his earlier show of lucidity, Thursday was in shock himself. Strange kneeled on the floor and looked Fred straight on, "Fred, you need to let him go. He's in safe hands. You did your job. Now let them do theirs."

Thursday looked at Strange and slowly loosened his grasap. Strange squeezed his shoulder before letting the paramedics back over. After that, it was a flurry of activity as Morse was rushed to hospital and Thursday was released with strict orders to rest. Strange himself drove Thursday home and helped his wife, Win, make him comfortable before excusing himself. Jim sat in the car for a few minutes before going to hospital to watch over the young man who bravely stayed alive.


End file.
